


Hostage Situation

by rowaning



Series: Paris is Burning [2]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Psychological Torture, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28538808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowaning/pseuds/rowaning
Summary: A non-canon-adjacent alternate scene for Paris is Burning, in which Oscar Wilde teleports to Clank Industries while Wellington and the squizards are there trying to negotiate with Sasha and Grizzop
Series: Paris is Burning [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090691
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Hostage Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Contains: violence, mild torture and threats of major torture.

“Look, I don’t see why we can’t just have a polite conversation.” The posh stranger was smooth. Too smooth.

“Shut up and leave us alone before I shoot your knees off!” said Grizzop, gesturing with his bow before nocking an arrow and aiming directly at him.

The man -maybe Wellington, Hamid had said- had appeared again, flanked by presumably the same tall cowled figures from before. Grizzop and Sasha had been waiting hours for Hamid and Azu to get back when the three cultists had _popped_ into existence about 50 feet away from them.

“Really, we can discuss this like civilized people, can’t we?” The well dressed man spread his arms wide, putting on what he probably thought was a welcoming face. It practically oozed sleaze.

“You have ten seconds to convince me not to shoot you right here and now!” Grizzop’s aim had not faltered, and he was glaring at the stranger with as much fury as he could muster. Sasha was starting to edge around him, stepping slowly towards the cover of the warehouse.

“Ten!”

He wasn’t looking at Sasha. If she could get around them and take out one of the squizards, Grizzop could handle this posh idiot and then the other squizard would be easy pickings.

“Nine!”

“Right, well-”

“Eight!”

“I’m here on behalf of-”

“Seven!”

“Will you please just let me-”

_POP_

Several things happened simultaneously. Grizzop yelled out “Six!”, ignoring whatever drivel was coming out of Wellington’s mouth. Sasha made it to the shadows, disappearing from everyone’s sight. Someone teleported a few feet beside the squizard to Wellington’s left and Grizzop, startled by the noise, let loose his nocked arrow.

The arrow soared wide, thudding into the wall of the warehouse about ten yards behind Wellington’s head. Before Grizzop could draw again, he got a good look at who had just popped directly into the middle of their confrontation.

Oscar Wilde stood before them, head darting around in confusion as he tried to assess the situation. He blanched at the sight of the cultists, then noticed Grizzop several yards away from him.

“Grizzop? What’s going-”

Before he could even get a sentence out, the closest squizard had moved towards him and grabbed him, yanking his arms behind his back, then drawing a knife and holding it to his throat. Wilde struggled for a moment before going still, and Grizzop could see a thin trickle of blood dripping from the blade.

“Oh good! Now we can finally make some progress,” Wellington was rubbing his hands together, clearly pleased with the situation at hand. “Oscar Wilde, I presume? A pleasure to finally meet you. I do hope you’ve been enjoying our little gifts.”

“You-” Wilde’s protest was cut off by the knife digging further into his neck.

“Excellent. Ah, Sasha, could you come out please? It would just be terrible if some sudden attack were to cause an... accident.” Having acquired a hostage, Wellington immediately dropped his ‘polite negotiation’ pretense.

Sasha emerged from the shadows behind the cultists, knives out and scowling.

“Excellent, excellent. Now, over there with the goblin. Quickly, or we’ll all find out just how much blood Mr. Wilde has in him, hm?”

She begrudgingly trudged back to join Grizzop. The squizard holding Wilde placed itself slightly ahead of Wellington, as if to use the bard as a human shield. Wilde let himself be led, not struggling or trying to escape. He did attempt to crane his neck away from the knife, but gave up after the squizard dug it in slightly deeper.

“Very good.” The smug smile on Wellington’s face was infuriating, and Grizzop desperately wanted to shoot it off. But if he did that, the squizard would slit Wilde’s throat and he’d be dead before Grizzop got the chance to heal him.

“Now then, you’re going to come with us and do exactly what I tell you, or my aide here will start removing extremities.” Wellington gestured to the second squizard, who removed a knife from its robes and moved to stand beside Wilde.

“Grizzop, what do we do?” Sasha muttered in a low voice.

It was a stalemate. They couldn’t surrender to the cult, but they couldn’t let them kill Wilde either. A classic no-win situation.

Just as Grizzop was about to suggest playing along until they could rescue Wilde, the man in question spoke up.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course they know better than to bow to some washed up aristocrat’s demands.”

Wilde fired a scathing look in as close to Wellington’s direction as he could manage, which was not close at all. The squizard yanked back on his arms and placed the tip of its knife directly underneath Wilde’s chin. He cried out in pain before gritting his teeth and silencing himself, but Sasha and Grizzop could hear his heavy, panicked breathing.

“What an interesting theory. Let’s test that, shall we?” Wellington’s smile looked more like a wolf baring its fangs, waiting to pounce on its prey.

The second squizard took one of Wilde’s arms. Wilde tried to yank his hand back but couldn’t escape its grip, tried to ball his hand into a fist but the cultist pried it open, separating his pinky finger.

“Tell you what, I’m feeling generous today. I’ll give you one more chance,” Wellington directed this towards Sasha and Grizzop. “If you acquiesce to our demands, I won’t have Mr. Wilde taken apart piece by miserable piece.”

The squizard placed its blade against the base of Wilde’s finger. He seemed to turn paler, if that was possible, and the faintest hint of nausea found its way into his expression. But he swallowed it down and managed to compose himself.

“You don’t need to bother. They don’t care whether I live or die, I doubt a little dismemberment would inspire them to do anything. They might even thank you.”

There was a strange hint of desperation in Wilde’s voice. Was he trying to tell them something? He didn’t actually believe that, did he? Sasha knew Wilde was a decent bluff, but she couldn’t figure out what kind of game he was trying to pull. She leaned down to Grizzop and muttered in his ear.

“Once you see an opening, take out the one holding Wilde. I can’t get the drop on them but if I run up and stab the other we might be able to get him out of the way enough to deal with them.”

Grizzop nodded, slowly reaching for his quiver, not taking his eyes off of the cultists.

Wellington had moved forward and was looking at Wilde’s disgruntled face with something that resembled glee.

“Oh my! They really have done a number on you. This- this is just delicious.” That predatory smile hadn’t left his lips and he leaned in close to Wilde.

“If you’re so sure of yourself, I think I’ll give you what you want.” Wellington stood back and snapped his fingers at the squizard holding a knife to Wilde’s hand. “Knock him out.”

Wilde’s expression instantly shifted from somewhat collected to pure panic. He struggled vainly against the squizard holding him, ripping his arm from the other’s grip and trying to cast something. The trickle of blood beneath the blade at his throat became a flow as he tried desperately to escape.

“No, please! Don’t-”

The second squizard placed its hand on Wilde’s forehead. He continued to struggle for a moment, before his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped in the first squizard’s clutches. It let go of him, and he crumpled to the ground in a limp heap. The squizards returned to their positions flanking Wellington, inscrutable beneath their dark cowls. Wellington tipped his hat towards Sasha and Grizzop.

“Enjoy the show. We’ll be in touch.”

With that, the cultists vanished with a loud _pop_.

Sasha and Grizzop stood frozen for a moment, completely thrown by the sudden turn of events. They were startled into motion by Wilde, who had begun to twitch and moan on the ground. By the time they had sprinted to his side, he had begun to claw at the air around him, speaking garbled, unintelligible words. His prone form began to thrash, occasionally catching himself with his fingernails and drawing blood. His whimpers became screams in between sharp gasps for breath, and a trickle of blood began to drip out of one ear and down the side of his face.

“Wilde! Wilde, can you hear me? Grizzop, you’re a healer, do something! Whats wrong with him?” cried Sasha.

She grabbed Wilde’s shoulders and tried to hold him still, ignoring his attempts to claw his way out of her grasp. Grizzop cast a healing spell, and then another, and then another. Wilde’s wounds closed, and the blood stopped flowing from his ear, but he didn’t stop thrashing and crying out.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like this! Wilde! Wilde, wake up!”

There were tears pooling in Grizzop’s large red eyes. Sure he wasn’t fond of Wilde, but he couldn’t stand watching him in so much pain with no idea how to save him.

“Wait, wait! He’s asleep, like magically asleep, ain’t he?” Sasha asked.

She was struggling to hold on to Wilde as the thrashing increased, threatening to tear open the wounds Grizzop had just healed.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe?” Grizzop shrugged, trying and failing to pull his gaze away from the expression of pure agony on Wilde’s unconscious face.

Sasha nodded, then released one of Wilde’s shoulders and slapped him across the face, hard.

“Hey, what did you do that for?”

Grizzop snapped into action, pulling Sasha’s arm away from Wilde, before noticing that he had stopped struggling and his breathing had begun to even out.

“It worked on me and Bertie one time when we got hit with magic sleeping arrows, so I figured it was worth a try.” Sasha nodded to Wilde, who’s eyes were beginning to flutter blearily. “Looks like it worked.”

Sasha pulled off her jacket and bundled it up, placing it under Wilde’s head. Grizzop crouched on Wilde’s other side and cast another healing spell, closing the cut across his throat that had reopened.

Wilde blinked a few times, muttering a bit before fully coming to. His eyes were bloodshot and his glamour had dissolved when he’d been knocked out, revealing a haggard face and a mess of uneven hair.

“I... what? Sasha? Grizzop? What happened, where are we?” Wilde asked, looking between the two of them. He tried to sit up, and Sasha put an arm around him and helped him upright.

“Clank Industries. You teleported here. A squizard grabbed you.” Grizzop supplied.

Wilde nodded, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Right, yes. Clank. And the cultists, and...”

He trailed off, lifted his hand up to inspect it, then felt the newly formed scar tissue on his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it after a moment, at a loss for words.

“Wilde, what did they do to you?” Sasha asked, pulling a waterskin from her pack and handing it to Wilde.

He accepted it, but just held it loosely, staring off into the distance with empty eyes.

“More importantly,” Grizzop interjected, “What was with that whole ‘they won’t care if I live or die’ shtick. That better have been a bluff and not some ludicrous self sacrificing nonsense. I won’t take that from anyone on my team, even you!”

This seemed to pull Wilde out of his reverie, and he stared at Grizzop as if the paladin had been speaking a different language. Grizzop was about to launch into a lecture about the foolhardiness of self sacrifice and how Wilde’s a _bard_ and he’s _squishy_ and he really needs to leave the dangerous work to the paladins, when Sasha raised a hand to silence him. Not moving her other hand from where it was supporting Wilde’s back, she moved so she could see him face to face.

“You actually believe that, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. Her voice was soft, and sad, and broke slightly as she trailed off. Wilde looked back at her, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes as his hands started to tremble.

“I-”

He dropped his gaze, looking away from Sasha. Grizzop could see the tears start streaming down his face.

“You wanted to know what they did to me.” Wilde’s voice shook, despite his efforts to keep it even.

“I didn’t know it was them, until he said... I thought it was just nightmares.”

Wilde was openly crying now.

“They were so terrible, and I couldn’t sleep, and I tried but they just got worse, and now I keep seeing things and hearing things and I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

Sasha exchanged a look with Grizzop, then wrapped her jacket around Wilde’s shoulders and hugged him. He barely reacted, still staring blindly into the distance.

“The dreams, the hallucinations... I think they wanted something from me. They wanted me to betray you and Hamid and Azu, to use me against you. I don’t know if they got any information from me, I tried not to-” his voice breaks, and he starts to sob.

After a few moments, Wilde manages to quiet his sobs and continue. Grizzop sat down on Wilde’s other side, not intruding on his line of sight but leaning his small body into the larger man.

“I dreamt about you. And Zolf and Bertie, and Hamid and Azu.” Wilde’s breath hitched. “I dreamt about you hurting me, killing me. And there were voices in my head telling me that you would do it. That you would watch me die and do nothing to stop it, that you’d kill me yourselves. There’s... there’s still voices in my head telling me that.”

Wilde stopped talking, tears falling freely down his face. He sat, not moving, flanked by Sasha and Grizzop in the middle of the grounds of Clank Industries.

Sasha was the first to move. She wrapped her other arm around Wilde and pulled him close, resting his head on her shoulder. He accepted the hug, leaning into Sasha’s embrace and crying into her shirt. Grizzop moved closer, wrapping his short arms around the both of them as best he could manage.

“We’re not gonna kill you, Wilde. We’ll get you help, maybe go to a temple and see a cleric or something.” said Sasha. “We’ll take care of you. Also if you tell anyone I hugged you I’ll be mad but I won’t stab you, not even a little.”

“Yeah, we’ll go to the Temple of Artemis. They’ll get you sorted!”

Grizzop found Wilde’s hand with his own and squeezed it, and to his surprise, Wilde squeezed back. They sat like that for a moment, taking comfort in each other’s presence, before Sasha and Grizzop helped Wilde to his feet and led him back down the mountain towards Damascus.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok look. Its a bad title. I know. I couldn't think of anything better and I didn't want to spend any more time on it.  
> Also I can't do good wordplay so please forgive a punless Oscar Wilde.


End file.
